Honestly, this started as a random idea that I couldn't stop thinking about until I actually wrote it. Since I've been having trouble working on my multi-chapter project, I thought working on something else for a little while might help.

Lawrence Mundy was a professional.

Professionals did not cry.

No matter how many times he repeated the mantra in his mind, he could not stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. The sorrow he felt constricted his chest, almost like someone had wrapped their hands around his heart. The constant sobbing had dried his throat to the point where he could barely swallow.

None of that mattered, though.

If he was lucky, he'd live another ten minutes. His hand drifted to where a bullet had left a hole in his abdomen. A second bullet hole was in his upper chest, miraculously missing his heart and lung—though it didn't matter in the long run. Two more were in his left leg, one being in his thigh and the others in his calf. His back had been sliced open.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would bleed out.

He found himself stopping at his destination. It was a pay-phone. He had remembered seeing it while racing down the road to escape their enemies. He didn't know if it worked, seeing as how almost no one came out here to the middle of nowhere. After all, what use would there be for a phone when no one was around?

Shakily holding the phone in his hand, he did his best to input the phone number he wanted to call. He wasted a good two minutes just trying to get it right. His rapidly weakening body made it extremely hard.

He prayed it would work. The sound of ringing was a saving grace.

Sniper slid down to the ground, glad that the line was long enough for him to do so. He dully noted that his breath had gotten a bit heavier since he had first grabbed the phone.

"Mrs. Mundy speaking."

"Mum," Sniper said breathlessly.

"Lawrence, is that you?"

"I-it's me, mum."

"Are you alright? You don't sound well."

"No, I'm not," he said, the tears returning. He rubbed furiously at his eyes. "I-I'm not alright at all."

"Honey, what's wrong?"

"Not gonna make home this time," he told her. Hell, he was probably scaring her. "Made a big mistake. All my f-friends—" A choking sob escaped him. "They're all gone."

"What are you talking—?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for never listening to you and dad. I shouldn't have become a sniper. I-I—" His voice broke and he squeezed his eyes shut. The pain was becoming unbearable. "If I had just listened none of this would have happened and my friends would still be alive and—"

Whatever his mother was saying was lost to him. He took in a shuddering breath. "Mum, I'm dyin'."

There was no reply. The man was met with biting silence. He figured he had a couple of minutes left before his body shut down from blood loss. He barely had a hold on the phone. It was a miracle that he still had the strength left to keep his voice halfway steady.

"…Please, please tell me this is just a joke."

"It's not." This time it was just above a whisper. "'M bleedin' out."

"Why aren't you getting help? Go to a hospital, or something!"

He laughed dryly, earning a startled gasp from the woman. "Wish I could. I just don't have the strength." His hand trembled as if to confirm his statement. "No place around 'ere that could help." Damn, his chest was hurting. "Wanted to hear your voice before I died. Tell dad I'm sorry, will ya? I-I know how disappointed he was. Both of you."

"No! No, I'm proud of you, Lawrence! Please hang on! There has to be something—!"

"Love you," Sniper whispered.

Trembling, he used the last of his strength to hang the phone up. He fell back down to the ground, landing harshly. His eyes landed on the pool of blood that had formed around him, feeling a chuckle rise from his throat. This was it. After surviving the impossible, this was how it ended.

He let out a shuddering breath.

I'm proud of you.

He smiled.